Just Friends
by Scelerata
Summary: A dance between friends. [2009]


It was in such good humor, and they were such good friends, that it hadn't felt odd. They had shared rooms, clothes, beds, an entire lifetime's worth of a journey, so what was a dance? They were the last two standing alone, as the music swept across the bar, and the soft bubble of alcohol, and the gale of the evening had simply insisted that they not be left out, for any reason. Cid hadn't thought twice as he had swung a powerfully muscled arm around Vincent's narrow waist, and swept him onto the makeshift dance floor so quickly that the gunner hadn't had time to protest, even if he had wanted to.

Someone had laughed as the pair stumbled ungracefully across the bar. It must have looked so odd, the tall brunette trying awkwardly to position himself around the blond. They were both used to leading, and it was an uncoordinated struggle to try and place their hands, arms, and bodies, before finally the awkward tangle of limbs righted themselves, and it was Cid in the lead, a broad forearm tucked under Vincent's fluttering crimson cape, and draped over the small of his back. The lithe, pale man rested a slender hand over the pilot's broad shoulder, and, hands clasped together, their stumbling charade flourished into a masterful waltz. It was just a little too perfect; a slight step up from the playful dancing of their teammates that ascended them to a completely different dimension. It was perfectly synchronized harmony between two perfectly unsynchronized people. It was wild, it was uncanny…

…it was fate.

"I didn't know you could dance." Vincent murmured softly, tilting his head down towards Cid's. Their foreheads brushed softly, and thick locks of ebony hair fell between them. The pilot snickered softly, awkwardly, and grinned, brilliant blue eyes crinkling.

"Y' should pay more attent'n." He mumbled, and Vincent laughed. For a moment, the only sound was the intoxicating trance of the music, and briefly, the rest of the world faded. The bar, their team, everything. It was just the music, and two very dear companions.

"I don't ever see you these days." The gunman softly admitted, eyes glittering sadly. It was peculiar, it was painful, it was beautiful, the way he reluctantly stared into his friend's haggard face through a satin screen of soft hair. Subtly, he pressed his chest against Cid's, and the blonde sighed softly, the very breath in him swept away by the gesture.

"Y' make it sound like…y' miss me." He whispered hoarsely. There was a delightful tremble to his voice that hadn't graced his lips in many, many years. Pins and needles, cold and electric, overthrew his body, as Vincent leaned into him, lips pursed barely inches from his ear.

"What would you think, if I did?" He asked. Cid could feel his breath, warm and gentle, on the nape of his neck, and it made his chest tight. Vincent's fingers squeezed at his shoulders gently, nervously, and Cid squeezed him back, arm tight around his waist.

"I'd think…it was perf'ct." He said slowly, eyes falling half-lidded. Vincent laugh sharply, yet softly in his ear, the sound contrived and manic, yet not unpleasant, and untangled his fingers from the younger man's, reaching up to brush soft fingertips along his rough, peppered jaw.

"Idiot." He breathed, pulling away from his companion every so slightly. Crimson eyes searched Cid's face, a sad smile gracing soft, pale lips, then it faded into something almost heartbroken. Vincent's eyes fell, and he leaned in once more, hand cupping Cid's cheek tenderly as their lips brushed together softly, briefly, yet intensely.

"There's no such thing as perfect." Vincent hissed, looking away as their kiss was broken. He had never looked so fragile to Cid, almost as if the slightest misstep might cause him to shatter. Slowly, he broke away, leaving the lithe man's hand to hang outstretched between them.

"Maybe not." He conceded, reaching up with calloused hands to cup the ex-Turk's delicately pointed chin. Rough fingertips brushed against smooth, soft skin tenderly, gently forcing the fair skinned man to look at him, and, slowly, Cid smiled.

"But this…this's pretty damn close, right?"

Crimson eyes crinkled, then closed, and Vincent reached up to gently hold one of the hands that was pressed so affectionately against his cheek. A warm feeling bubbled up in his chest; an intense burn that he hadn't felt in decades, and it made him laugh, to realize what it was.

"…I think I love you, chief." He breathed almost joyously. All of a sudden, everything seemed painfully clear, and awkwardly humorous, as if he had suddenly caught a joke that had long been told. Cid must have felt similarly, because he stared in sheer wonderment at Vincent, as if he had been seeing him for the very first time.

"…yeah?" He questioned in blissful ignorance, his face splitting into a wide grin. Vincent snorted, fighting back a smile that shone through brilliantly regardless, unhindered by his natural emotional modesty.

"Yeah." He laughed, opening his eyes to stare into Cid's. "I really…I really think I do."

It was Cid's turn to laugh this time. Tilting his head down, he propped it against Vincent's collarbone, hiding his grin in the cherry red folds of his cloak. Dropping both arms to the gunner's sides, he gently clutched his hips with his broad palms, squeezing him affectionately.

"I love y' too, Vince." He sighed. "I nev'r fuckin' thought about it b'fore, but I really, really love ya."

Cid's words left him giddy in the worst of ways, and the stoic gunner hated himself for loving the fluttering sensation. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the gruff old pilot in reciprocation, and gave him a soft squeeze, burying his face into his neck tenderly. It was all so bittersweet, he realized, as Cid held him. He had lost a very good friend that night, the best he had ever had, but in it's wake, he had gained something just as glorious. And it was in such good humor, and they had been such good friends, that it hadn't felt odd. Glorious, spontaneous, overdue.

But never odd.


End file.
